The She-Wolf of Erebor
by TheLadyAranel
Summary: Rewrite. Beryl daughter of Dain is married to Fíli in exchange for an army. Having never met, Beryl faces the trials of trying to win Fíli's affections and the company's. With no skills in the wild, she's more of a burden than anything. Fearing the worst, she makes a life changing decision. Fíli has no need for embroidery. What he needs-what Erebor needs- is a She-Wolf.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

AN: This Chapter and the next are the only two with minor changes. The rest of the tale is vastly different as you will see taking place at the end of Chapter two. Please review and blessings.

* * *

The gathering of the seven clans was over and with it Beryl's fate sealed. There was no turning back now, not even if she fought her father tooth and nail to change the outcome. Besides, Dain was never one to uproot his conscience once something had been planted firmly in his head. And as the gods would have it, Dain had decided on a very high match for his daughter. A match he said, so auspicious it could bring nothing but furthermost favor with the King of the Mountain. This in plain speech meant more titles, wealth, and everything that came with it; thrust upon them in the most gracious of handfuls. As long as Beryl did her honorable part in obeying her superiors that is. And why wouldn't she? All of her life the dwarven princess had been reared to obey her father, and consent to whatever match he saw fit. What she wasn't prepared for though, was a match neither quite like this: to have her dowry given to her lord husband's _uncle_ in the form of an army. Beryl it seemed was nothing but a bargaining chip in a high stake gamble to reclaim a lost kingdom. It would be a cousin to marry a cousin, to gain an army. (Though Thorin had politely refused Beryl's hand on account of age, he was quick to offer his sister's son Fíli.) Dain had seen this as safe enough if just second best—after all, the boy was heir presumptive—not a bad match at all. So for the life of him, Dain Ironfoot could not grasp the hesitance in his meek daughter's disposition to the news.

"You should thank me for what I've done for you, ungrateful child." He spat, standing from his great chair of estate. "Many a young dwarrowdam would fight for the chance to wed and bed an heir of Durin!" Such a comment made Beryl blush and raise her eyes from her feet to challenge her father's gaze.

"Am I not an heir of Durin myself, my lord?" A bold and saucy thing to say make no mistake, but Beryl's belly burned with the same tenacity that flared in all Durin's folk. "And as an heir of Durin myself, I hardly see it fair to use me because of my sex, to meet a greater end: a benefit only made to bring glory to you." She ended her words with eyes on Thorin, who consequently was in the hearing room. He did not seem so quick to anger at her hesitance as Beryl's father had. In fact, Thorin Oakenshield tried to reason with the youngling by basing her uneasiness and stubbornness on age and fear of the marriage bed.

"Little cousin," He spoke softly, letting his bottom slip into a lavish chair next to a grand fire, while adjusting a large ring on his hand. "We will forgive such outbursts. It isn't your fault that with your young age comes rebellious thinking and speech. It happens to us all at one point or another in our lives." Thorin paused just then, to see if Beryl would meet his gaze and hold it- she hadn't. "But you must remember, as you yourself said, we are heirs of Durin. That means as a princess of the blood you must do your part in seeing our clan thrive once again in our homelands."

Oakenshield could see his little speech was having no effect on the young girl, which meant this business between Dain and him was treading on the thinnest of ice. He would have to come up with something to persuade this young fire-start to yield and fast. Without Dain's army to back him once his party reached Erebor, there would be no hope. He'd be damned if he'd let Beryl ruin this for him. "You will be treated well I promise; Fíli is a good lad who will make you a fine husband. Does the thought of becoming queen consort one day displease you?" He saw her eyes shift with anticipation. Thorin had her there.

"No sir, it does not displease me." Beryl's voice was shaking. It was slowly becoming harder to control the anger that swelled inside of her. How dare she be treated like a pawn! Thorin had even had the nerve to tell her point blank the marriage was based on political advancement and nothing more. And if these two could be so heartless as to care less for her thoughts and feelings on the marriage, how could Fíli differ? Still to fight was pointless, they would reel her in somehow. Tenacity though, would give her the last word. Both her father and Thorin could bear that much for what they are forcing upon her, and seeing the smug grins of victory upon each of their faces, Beryl stood straight and commanded a voice that held the air of Durin. "The prospect of becoming queen does not displease me, sirs; though I am wounded you would seek your own means through me without regard for thought or feeling. It is a pity that in this world to have any authority you must be born with a cock between your legs." She paused, "Alas I was not and now if you would excuse me, I must ready myself for the days to come."

Clearly her father did not seem amused, though Thorin's thoughts were not well read upon his face. Never would she have thought he had found her spark encouraging, yet there he was, finding himself envying this young girl's bridegroom. She reminded him of her mother.

It wasn't long after the confrontation with her father that Beryl was informed on the details of her engagement. Another blow was dealt to her as she was told without remorse; it was not to be a formal affair befitting a lady of her rank and of Fíli's, due to the timing of things. In fact her betrothed would not be attending the wedding at all, though she read in the letter—written in Fíli's own hand—that his humblest apologies were given and were he there, he was sure they would find each other to their likings. Clearly this letter was written in advance. No one could deliver regrets to ones own wedding hours after the news was broken to the bride. Did they all think her stupid? She went on to read that arrangements had been made to see her safely to the Shire to commence her life as a wife to her husband.

Beryl shuttered. Not only would she leave behind the four corners and safety of her room to travel side by side with her vagabond husband—such a noble match!—it would also be expected of her to perform the marriage debt. A prospect she at the present would rather not think about. The idea of becoming one flesh by letting a male break your most sacred place was beyond molestation to Beryl. And if they thought she'd do so under such circumstances they were delusional. It was simply out of the question and she desired no part of it. Although it stated plainly in the letter that Fíli seemed eager enough. That could cause tension with him then. Beryl would be living in an altered reality if she expected a marriage between two people whom had never met before—one not even attending the nuptials—to go smoothly. In all honesty, nothing could be expected save little more than public appearances together if all went well and one day she truly was queen. Beryl could do well keeping her own court and company and it would not bother her conscience in the least if her lord husband took as many mistresses as it pleased him to do. It would sure enough allow her to escape the marriage bed. Let someone else fill that gap. He could father bastards and she could keep her virginity. Beryl let a laugh escape her then. Now that would be an altered reality!

Placing the letters, forms, and documents down on her desk within her chambers, Beryl pulled a fur shawl over her shoulders and gazed about her chambers. She was standing in the outer compartment of her royal apartments, where she entertained and took company. It was a large space rectangular in construction and held up by four great stone pillars, carved into the etched ceiling. Tapestries adorned the walls in her colors of blue and ivory, while her own coat of arms or a crest hung handsomely above the hearth. It was a white falcon on a blue field. A symbol of her chastity, youth, and cleverness which she adopted on her own. She could help but wonder if she would ever see that falcon tied with Fíli's crest over the canopy of estate one day. That falcon, her falcon next to the king of Erebor's sigil... the very thought sent shivers down her spine. She could one day rule the greatest kingdom in Middle Earth and demand homage from all four corners of it. Her rooms now would be meager to the ones she would inhabit as queen. She may yet look back one day on these apartments and feel slandered by her father for giving her such accommodations. What lavish she would divulge in day by day.

A loud rapping on her door ended her daydreaming and placed her back into her own shoes and the vile reality she faced.

It had only been Maude, Beryl's childhood nurse and waiting lady. She had come to help pack her mistress's belongings and reminisce on a time much less complicated than what was before them. Custom would have it that Maude would have accompanied her to her new estate with her husband, once the marriage had taken place; in the light of the bitter situation Maude would be staying behind.

"Can you believe the conditions I'm forced to endure?" Beryl handed clean linens to her nurse to pack away into one of the few satchels permitted her. "I am commanded to travel as far as Laketown, to ensure the promise of my dowry delivered. I'm a pawn in control of bigger players I'm afraid."

Maude shook her head and sighed deeply wishing there was something she could say to comfort her young charge, yet nothing came forth. The nurse too had been given her orders. She reached out and placed her withered hand over the princess' "You know then too that your bridegroom will not be attending the ceremony?" The old woman banked on the possibility that Beryl in all of her cleverness had already found this piece of information out.

"Do not remind me." ...

The nuptials were a quiet affair and more like those which would take place among the common folk. There was no music, no grand entrance, and Thorin stood in place of his nephew who conveniently couldn't attend. Unbelieving that her father could be as cruel as to subject her to her new life willingly, Beryl found her voice little above a whisper while she gave her vows without feeling. The sounds she spoke tumbled out of her mouth in perfect precision; void of any emotion or sincerity to love and obey her husband until taken from this world. What a bleak and sad little wedding it was, with only a few lords from her father's council to witness and sign the contract, after which was given to Beryl to do the same. Lifting the quill to the parchment was difficult, seeing as her hand felt as if it were lead. Finding the strength to sign the document was just as daunting and the only way Beryl could bring herself to it was by breathing as deeply as she could, forcing herself far away from where she was. Then she closed her eyes and scribed away her life. Afterward, once the paper had been sprinkled with sand and stamped by both Thorin and Dain, Beryl let her hand fall to her side. The ink from her quill had splattered her gown. She was no longer Beryl, daughter of Dain. She was now Beryl, wife of Fíli. And that was the bitterest of blows to her heart.

On the morning of her departure from her father's lands, Beryl had barely been able to rise from bed. The night before had been sleepless and it wasn't until dawn threatened the outside world that she was finally able to close her eyes for the briefest of moments. For not long after did the knock on the door stir her and bring her back to the truth that she must make ready to leave her home forever. And although she knew herself lucky to be allowed the privilege to view the outside world, Beryl knew she would face it as a married Dwarrowdam. She hardly knew what life would entail, being connected to an exiled royal prince of the blood. Though some things were obvious.

They would not hold their own household for her to run, nor would there be parties to plan or ambassadors to entertain. All of her life she had been brought up as a princess, which in short meant she had no skill for the wild beyond the sanctuary of her hilly homeland. Beryl never cooked, cleaned or wielded an ax in all of her life, but if her husband ever needed jewelry crafted, doilies embroidered, or music played she would excel beyond expectations. With all of that said, Beryl knew she would have to lie on her ambitious intuition to keep her alive and in her husband's good graces.

With diminutive enthusiasm for traveling with her cousin, Beryl offered him little in the way of pleasantries and extended only a morning greeting that was expected. In truthfulness, she had hoped he would sense her displeasure with the whole situation and that it would be a thorn in his side their entire way to the Shire.

She failed to see the childishness in behaving in such a way; Thorin had anticipated she would do as much. Yet he had also hoped he would get the opportunity to discuss Fíli with her. The way he had hoped he could have prepared his nephew for his wife…the brazen little thing she was. Already this morning she had made it clear there would be little conversation, unless it was concerning their progress in reaching the Shire, and Thorin began to wonder if it had been such a wise decision to have her brought along. Dain had seemed compliant with the notion and in truth Oakenshield needed that army to back him at the gates. Taking back the mountain was going to be no walk in a spring meadow. He silently hoped Beryl would prove to be equipped to handle the hardships of life on the road and adapt quickly to the dangers they might encounter. Admitting not much thought had been taken into this plan, Thorin felt a sickened panic rise in his belly. He had taken a princess—whom had not been born into exile like the rest of his younger kin—whom had more than likely never set foot outside of the mountains of the Iron Hills, and tossed her into a spiraling and unexpected adventure on her part. He cracked a silent worried grin. Beryl was the polar opposite of her husband. Seeing her then with Fíli would prove interesting.

* * *

Fíli knew by now he was married; it was an odd feeling. It was also terrifying that he had no inclination as to her look, personality or even sensibility. For all he knew Beryl could be the most god awful looking creature the gods ever sought to create. Yet the worst of it was that now he would be expected to play the part of dutiful husband and sever from his life all fun and play. There would be no more late nights finding happiness at the bottom of pint nor in the arms of a serving girl he was guaranteed to coax into his bed. No, that life was all over-at least in public. So one might think he would be getting as much tomfoolery in as he could the last few nights he had to himself, but for the life of him...he just couldn't. Fíli had been staring at the same pint for hours now, his appetite for mischief nowhere to be found. The others observed it too, though they were well enough off not to poke at a sleeping bear. He could see it in their faces though. They wanted to taunt him for his lack of vigor tonight; for three times in the last hour a pretty little blonde had espied him and under any other circumstance he would have been in bed with her at first hint. He just couldn't bring himself to it, for every time he tried to see this girl in his bed, guilt rose in his stomach for his wife whom he had never seen. Fíli couldn't explain why that sick feeling gripped his gut like a vice, yet every time it did he oddly enough thought of his mother. Maybe she was the reason her son's conscience refused to taint his wife's name.

Dís's own marriage had been much like her son's. She had never met her husband before their wedding night and hardly knew what to expect. Fíli's father had been a piece of work and from the beginning he never took any part of their life together seriously. The boy knew little of his parents' time together before both their children came into the world, but there was enough to see growing up to guess Dís's marriage to her husband was less than perfect. For public appearances they were the very picture of how a family of the line of Durin should be. They were clean, put together, and all around well-to-do. Outside the eyes of the public however, was another story entirely. Fíli's father never made it secret he had many mistresses. In fact it wouldn't have surprised him had someone told Fíli he had bastard siblings. Often, he would find his father giving away tokens of affection to a lady here or there, but none of his rendezvous ever lasted long. It became especially hard during his mother's pregnancy with Kíli, that much Fíli could remember well. He was extremely young but he recalled his mother crying every night in her empty bed while his father was out. He didn't realize it then yet as he grew older he grasped what had really been going on those months his baby brother grew in his mother's belly. There was never a doubt in Fíli's mind that his father had slandered his mother's name; knowing that he had stepped out on them all during a time that should have been filled with happiness, Fíli just couldn't forgive. For years he watched his mother suffer at the hands of an inattentive chauvinistic pig. And for all the pain Dís had suffered, Fíli loved her. He loved her more fiercely than anyone in Arda and for that reason he couldn't betray Beryl. He couldn't see his sons grow to hate their father for his unfaithfulness, as he had done with his own. Only Fíli could understand that.

"Stop looking so damn put out!" Kíli shouted at his brother from across the table. He had always been the optimistic one, always finding the silver lining in every situation. Sometimes the optimism was annoying. Now was one of those times.

"If I'm put out the only reason is because of you." His brother narrowed his eyes and spoke gravely.

"Don't blame me for your troubles. It wasn't me who married you off." Kíli snapped back, slightly irked at his brother's annoyance with him.

There was only a split second of silence between them before Fíli slammed his fist against his mug sending it across the table and on to the floor in a fit of rage. Everything in the inn grew quiet then and the other members of the company, who until then had been minding to their own affairs, gazed quietly upon the brothers. The inn master had muttered something about not tolerating troublemakers in his establishment, before encouraging the other patrons to continue buying their drink and attending to their own goings-on. It took more encouraging than he would have liked—for people loved to see a good pub brawling and gossip—but he eventually drew most of his patrons attention away from the two dwarves. It wasn't until the atmosphere had returned to its previous volume that Fíli spoke again. Taking a deep breath and running his hands through his hair and down his face, he stood stiffly. "If Thorin wanted an army, he should have married her himself." And on that note the heir to all of Erebor sulked away to his room for the night.

By the time Fíli rose in the morning half the company had already been on their way again, which suited him just fine. He preferred traveling alone or with Kíli and felt rather awkward in larger groups. His entire world revolved around a stealthy and quiet approach to everything and if you ever traveled with dwarves like Dwalin or Bombur you would understand perfectly Fíli's hesitation. That wasn't to say he didn't like his comrades though. They were some of the best dwarves he had ever the pleasure to call brothers. It had all worked itself out however; Fíli needed this time alone with his brother. It was probably going to be one of the last times at that. Knowing this, he didn't waste his last morning of freedom in bed.

Sluggishly, he pulled himself from beneath the warmth of his covers and pulled on his breeches and then one by one adorned each piece of his clothing. Once he finished he gathered all of his weaponry and tucked each special handmade piece into its place on his body. Without those daggers hidden safely away on his person, he felt naked. This was the most important part of his morning routine. Once He had finished, Fíli left his room of the inn and found his brother at the same table he had been at the night before.

Kíli had been helping himself to breakfast and had just washed it down with a large gulp of ale. His demeanor was cheery, much the same as it always was. He hardly let anything get to him for very long. So when Fíli sat down to break his fast, he wasn't all that surprised that his brother hadn't mentioned the night before, he was in all ways brotherly. Kíli had asked how he slept and then they spoke of the weather, of their journey and other safe topics, straying far away from Fíli's situation. And Fíli had to admit he appreciated his brother's discretion. He knew he could always count on his sibling for that if not for anything else; other than having his back. What were brothers for if not that? At least that could never change. Thorin could do whatever he wanted to Fíli—make him lick his boot even—as long as Kíli was there to pick him up after. In more ways than one, the younger did more for the elder than Kíli would ever know. Sometimes Fíli often felt he was the second born, though he would never admit it out loud.

When Fíli's food had finally arrived in front of him, he was dismayed to see it had been served by the blonde from the night before. She was much curter than she had been, acting almost as if he had wounded her pride. "Thank you." Fíli managed to whisper up at her. The young woman simply nodded and flung her hair over her shoulder before strutting away.

"You don't think she would have spit in your food for last night, do you?" Kíli's words were barely audible from behind his full mouth.

Looking down at his plate of fish, bacon, and toast, Fíli sighed. And with a growling stomach he placed the food on the floor for the hounds, laid his money on the table and made his way to door, securing the pack on his back.

Kíli slammed the rest of his food down his gullet before following suit.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

* * *

It had been a fortnight since their departure from the Iron Hills and Beryl had adjusted to her new life well, even if it was uncomfortable. She was sore and miserable and desperately wished for a bath. Her bones were chilled from the dampness of the moors they traveled and her bottom and thighs discovered the meaning of saddle-rash. Beryl did well enough not to voice her complaints however; she knew better. There was nothing that could be done for her situation and the princess was just going to have to make the best of it. Thorin for one was extremely pleased to see her take on her suffering in silence. He had also come to admire her tenacity for seeing her part of this bargain through to the end. He even learned to laugh a little at her complete lack of skill for surviving in the wilderness.

Their first night making camp together, Thorin had done everything. It seemed no matter what task he had given Beryl, her lack of basic survival skills botched her attempts. The girl couldn't start a fire, cook food, or even tie up their ponies. (Which also meant Thorin did not trust her to stand guard at night.) Yet she didn't complain when she was asked to undertake any of it and did put forth a good effort, even in vain, resulting in Thorin doing it all. Beryl did get better in time however and by the fifth night she had unsaddled her pony, secured it, and started a fire all thanks to her cousin's teachings. There was a bond of silent friendship formed between them and Beryl found she thoroughly enjoyed their time together. So much in fact, that she began to dread the day in the near future. When it would no longer be just the two of them and she would be expected to fall in line with the rest of the company. It must have been easy enough to read on her face. For the first time in hours, Thorin spoke. "Did you bite your tongue?" He commented on her bitter expression.

"No," She sneered before lowering her eyes. "I simply wish this small journey to the Shire didn't have to end. I'd rather spend my days like this, rather than live out what lies in store for me."

Thorin furrowed his brows at this. Firstly, he was taken aback by her forwardness and never had he seen a woman speak to him with such familiarity—save his sister. Second, there was a part in him as well that wished for all the things his young cousin had. He would never admit he grew more jealous of Fíli every day he spent with Beryl. Had their customs allowed it, he would prefer himself in his nephew's shoes. "I will speak plainly to you Beryl and not as a king to a subject, but kin to kin." Thorin stared straight ahead of them, toward the sunset. "Had I been just Thorin and you just Beryl, I too would want this life."

The way Thorin spoke frightened Beryl. There was a certain desire in her cousin's voice that sent the coldest of shivers through her body. She had said a silent prayer that he may never speak to her like that again, and to her amazement it seemed it had been answered with what Oakenshield said next. "This conversation does not go beyond us and it is finished now. It never was, do you understand? I am not just Thorin and you are not just Beryl. We have our duties ahead of us that we must see to the end."

Thorin spoke with the authority she knew only from her father and Beryl stared in awe. He was a king that had just given her a command. She bowed her head most piously. "Yes, your majesty."

The rest of their journey carried on in silence, much as it had been and it wasn't until they reached the town of Bree that Thorin had spoken again. "We are already late for our meeting with Gandalf in the Shire, but it won't do you good showing up looking like a milkmaid. Take this and buy yourself a bath at the inn, while I gather supplies for our journey." He handed her a golden coin and helped her dismount her pony. Then, pointing Beryl in the direction of the inn, Thorin left her to her bath while he ran his errands.

Beryl had never seen a human before and when she faced the innkeeper with his booming voice and over cheery disposition in greeting her, she shrunk back in fear. Seemingly, the dwarf concurred that it was true what others said about men, that they were dirty and dull and altogether thick. Nervously, she handed the man her coin and requested a bath.

"Right'o lass." The man winked at her and Beryl fumed at his audacity. "Mrs. Ellen will show ya the way."

The woman called Mrs. Ellen reminded Beryl of Maude. It stung a little to be reminded of such a faithful servant and the closest woman to the young princess. Much like Maude, Mrs. Ellen was a small, round woman, with bright red cheeks and a deep voice similar to a man's. Yet for all of that she was kind and compassionate; completely flabbergasted to have been in the company of a dwarrowdam. Once Mrs. Ellen had found out Beryl was of daughter of Dain, it became even more of an honor for the woman. "Begging your pardon your highness," She spoke with her head down. "But we don't get lady folk of your kind 'round these parts too often. In fact—begging your pardon again—but it was thought you looked just like the men, with the beards and all."

Beryl raised her brows in confusion. How ridiculous, she thought. What could possible make her think the females of her kind grew facial hair? "No need to beg pardon." She tried to repress a smile. "But if you don't mind I'm pressed for time and desperately would like to get on with it." That was Mrs. Ellen's hint to leave.

Once the woman bowed and made her exit, Beryl peeled off the worn and smelly clothes she had been traveling in and tossed them aside. No manner of washing was going to make those garments wearable again and she decided it was best to leave them there for the innkeeper or Mrs. Ellen to dispose of. So in gazing at the tub before her, Beryl grinned at the steaming water infused—at her request—with honeysuckle oils, and slipped in it. She released a sigh of utter joy, for never had anything felt so heavenly. All of the dirt and grime seemed to literally melt from her flesh as she submerged her entire being under the scented waters. For what felt like hours she stayed within the sanctuary of that tub, even after her filth was clearly visible within it. She justified this with the fact that she didn't exactly know when her next bath would be. Beryl might as well enjoy this one while it lasted. Which just so happened to be cut short, for Thorin knocked on the door saying it was high time they start out again.

"We should reach the Shire by nightfall." He spoke from the other side of the door.

"I see…" There was a pause before the door cracked open and a pretty colored box was placed on the inside of the room. Beryl nearly jumped out of the water before she realized Thorin's intent was not to enter the room fully. "What is that?"

"Something for you to wear; I assumed you hadn't packed another gown."

Beryl had been in the water up to her nose, embarrassed by such a close interaction with Thorin at such a personal level. Albeit in hearing the kindness of him buying her a gown to adorn for the evening, she slowly poked her mouth out of the tub to utter out a thank you, before her cousin had closed the door. She swore she heard him say 'You're welcome' but she couldn't be sure. Shrugging it off and not wanting to waste any time and keep Thorin waiting, Beryl stood and exited the tub, dried off, and turned to the package.

Inside the colored box was one, green damask dress. Its bodice was a square cut, embroidered with emeralds and onyx, while the length of the skirt came to the ankle. Clearly it had been made for a young human girl and was fashioned in the way they wore their clothing, but it was a nice gesture on Thorin's part and Beryl loved its simplicity. Sadly however, it didn't matter how well Beryl fancied it, the only person who's opinioned mattered tonight was Fíli's. She had no idea how he would take to her in it.

When she had finally managed to dress herself—she always had Maude to help with dressing and undressing—she found it to be exquisite on her. There wouldn't be a dwarf alive who could deny she wore the garment well, even if she was thin and small for her age. And as long as Fíli could see passed the freckles on her face—which were not becoming for a dwarrowdam—then she was sure he would have naught to complain about. There was another knock on the door.

"Who calls?" Beryl stated over her shoulder, plaiting pieces of her hair.

"Are you decent?" It was Thorin.

Beryl crossed over the room and straightened her back before opening the door. On the other end of it, she found a speechless Thorin. At first, she thought perhaps she wasn't wearing the dress as well as she thought. "Is it that bad?" She whispered.

Thorin continued to stare without a response before nodding in approval and turning his back to her, signaling that it was time for them to depart. This was most unsettling for Beryl; terror filled her small body as she quietly closed the door behind her. She followed her King out of the inn and onto the road bound for the Shire. All the way there she continued to mumble small prayers as her stomach churned with uneasiness. And when they finally reached the front door of this quant little hobbit hole, Beryl could hardly breathe. Thorin had turned to her as he raised his fist to the door.

"Stop!" She pleaded with tears in her eyes. "I-I can't do it. Let us leave Thorin…let us go." Beryl held her breath for her king's response.

For a moment Beryl held her breath, praying Thorin might let her go. Yet it was all in vain. Whatever compassion his Majesty had held for her in their travels, had evaporated with the heated glare that came from him. Thorin's unhappiness at her behavior burnt into the dwarrowdam's skull. It was then Beryl realized despite this new feeling of freedom, she would never be free. This was the life she was handed, the life of obedience and composure; a life of a princess. Your words were not your own to speak, your thoughts not your own to think. Had she made such a scene at court there surely would have been dire consequences. Releasing the small grip she held on Thorin's cloak, shame and loneliness washed over her already insipid face. Dropping into the most lowest and humble of curtseys, she whispered apologizes and begged pardon of Thorin—who was lest she forget—her King. Nodding his approval without speaking a word, he let his jeweled fist bang upon the hobbit's door leaving nicks and scratches against the force.

The young girl did not rise from her bowed state, for the fear that any further action against her betters might cause her more discomfort than that which had already taken root in her heart. She would wait for Thorin's command before even daring to breathe. Her very fears of what lay beyond that green door with its brass knob taunted her like a knife to her throat. As it opened, the knife cut away at her flesh. Beryl was not ready…

"Stand…Do not make a fool of yourself." The harsh nature of Thorin's words did not match the pity in his eyes. "Our company and your husband are waiting."

Beryl had not expected Thorin to help her rise from the floor, so when he didn't she thought nothing of it. The words that came from him were muffled, as if she were hearing them from under a current of water.

Thorin was the first to enter the home of Master Baggins; first to be introduced by the renowned wizard, Gandalf the Grey. Knowing she would be next the princess felt her knees buckle and her throat fill with bile. Nothing she was taught could have prepared her for this and no amount of kindness or awe from the Hobbit's eyes as she entered his home would have calmed her heart. There were too many faces staring at her, too many prying eyes. She knew she appeared to be nothing more than a mousy lass, a pitiful sight for the daughter of Dain, but the trepidation that held her gripped her so tightly all she could do was grovel in fear. The noises of introductions were unheard over a haze of queasiness in her belly. Name after name, bow after bow, and at your service after at your service, Beryl could not keep the names straight. In fact the truth of it all was she was looking at each individual, praying to the gods that who turned out to be Bombur or Bifur, was indeed not Fíli.

"The poor child is scared to death." Balin exclaimed, rising from his lordly bow to the princess.

"She is just fine." Thorin mumbled handing his cloak to Bilbo, minding little to the Hobbit's inquiry about Beryl's health and if she was going to ill all over his freshly mopped entryway. "She is just a little shook up," Thorin sneered, "nothing a glass of mulled wine won't calm."

Composing her nerves enough to respond for herself, finding the Durin fire within—if even at its weakest—Beryl squeaked out a response, determined to speak for herself. "I'm fine. A little jumbled in my thoughts perhaps…I've never been outside my father's halls. Forgive me my lords; it is much to take in."

"Shall I take your cloak your ladyship—I mean your highness—I mean your grace—I mean…?" The Hobbit called Bilbo bowed in the most unfashionable way, flustered and beaten mentally by Beryl's Dwarven kin. And although she felt mighty guilty for finding peace at the suffering of another, inwardly Beryl screamed for joy at the ease Bilbo brought her.

"My Lady will do well Master Baggins, and yes thank you." She smiled at him, finding it comforting to be of the same stature with at least one being in the home.

"Enough of this!" Thorin hollered. "We have stood here squawking like milkmaids and I have traveled far. It is due time for food and drink."

"Yes my dear Bilbo, a glass of red wine for me." The wizard called Gandalf heartily agreed, showing Thorin to his place at the head of the table.

Bilbo nodded, acknowledging the orders for wine and ale and beer, all while hanging Beryl's cloak and taking Thorin's in his other hand. "What can I bring to the table for you, Lady Princess?" The Hobbit inquired.

The room fell silent. A few of the dwarves that remained in the entry way, Gloin, Nori and Ori, glared at their host.

"Was it something I said?" The poor little creature muttered.

Beryl held her breath.

"Womenfolk aren't allowed in gatherings." He explained.

What a silly rule. The Hobbit thought. "I see, well where is she supposed to retire then?"

"The princess, boy," Gloin barked. "If you have to address the Lady at all, it's not 'her', 'she', or any of the kind."

"My apologizes."

Beryl grew agitated by being spoken of as if she weren't in the room at all. "Lest you all forget I am still among you and can speak for myself." With her being put at ease and strength returning she addressed the Hobbit. "A glass of mulled cider would do me well; I'll take it in the parlor if you have one." She then turned to her would-be rightful subjects. "This is where I will wait on his Majesty's blessing to retire for the evening…that is all." They were dismissed.

It was then that Bilbo remembering his manners this time, escorted Beryl to the parlor where—much to both of their surprise Gandalf was waiting, a glass in his hand. "I took it upon myself to fill your drink request Beryl daughter of Dain; along with seeing your containment is secured."

Beryl groaned. Containment; the last word she wanted to hear. How could Thorin do this to her? "Is there no chance his Majesty would reconsider? I would never act so brazenly and wanton as to tarnish my reputation."

Gandalf smiled softly. "It is not by Thorin's orders."

The dwarrowdam fumed. "Then I will not settle for being held hostage in closed quarters. Confinement is unnecessary. I need not be locked in this room all night. I'll die of boredom with nothing to read or sew…who am I supposed to converse with?!"

Bilbo was then called away for need of refills and new orders, leaving the wizard and the displaced young dwarf alone.

"I'm afraid there is little I can do Beryl. Take heart though. Nothing lasts forever, and I'm sure Fíli will not let you sulk long by the fire. Let us each play our parts."

Beryl huffed and argued her point with the wizard.

Ignoring her, Gandalf made the smallest gestures of compassion by offering Beryl his own seat and draping a shawl over her shoulders. Locking the door behind him, He left Beryl in all of her anger to wait for whatever fate her compassionate husband had in store.

Not ten feet from the parlour room, Fíli son of Dís was preparing himself for their very first conversation.


End file.
